Help!
Captioning sponsored by THE U.S. DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION
and MTV TELEVISION NETWORKS
Class, I hope you're all planning
to participate in tomorrow's parent-child picnic games,
though I'm sure
Cindy and her mom
will once again smear the competition.
Come anyway to watch Neutron and his klutzy dad.
Vortex, you know darn well we won a medal last year.
Yeah, for funniest collision.
Ooh...
Class,
please, it's not polite to...
That collision was hilarious.
It was great.
What am I going to do?
My dad's all thumbs and has two left feet.
Cool! If your mom grows a beard,
we can start our own circus.
Me and my dad just want to go the distance
without breaking anything, or twisting anything
or pulling something or dislocating...
Okay... we get it.
Well, it's only a game, right?
And who knows?
Maybe my dad will surprise me this year.
Hey, boys!
Just going to the garage to get... whoa!
Does your mom got game?
Mom, could you please
pass the pork loaf?
Certainly, dear.
Wow!
Nice pass, Mom.
Ever consider competing at the amateur school picnic level?
Well, I...
That reminds me, Jimbo...
Aren't the parent-child picnic games this Saturday?
I've been looking forward to it all year long.
Hey, watch me shot-put this potato!
Oh! Oh! Ohh...!
Hugh!
Be careful.
Ow! My eye!
Oh, if Dad competes, we lose for sure.
Goddard— options.
No... too mature.
I'm no quitter.
Hmm... cheating would be dishonest,
but I'm far too blinded by my desire to destroy Cindy to care.
To the lab!
All right, just one more...
Vox, display digital simulation of Dad running.
There.
Now introduce corrective electromagnetic cranial strip.
You're going down, Vortex.
Ah, isn't this great, Jimbo?
You and me working together as a team.
Now, remember, son—
there's no "I" in "team."
Should we sublimate our individuality
for the good of our combined effort?
No, I mean there's no letter "I" in the word "team."
There's never a wrong time for a spelling lesson, son.
You know, Dad, I know how important professional gear is
to an athlete such as yourself, so...
Oh, look!
A sweatband.
Thanks, Jimmy.
You know, once I get going,
I sweat like a dock worker on the noon shift.
Um, Dad, shouldn't we stretch or something?
Uh, sorry, Carl.
Can't risk it.
Might dislocate a valve.
Remember what happened last year.
Oh, yeah.
That nurse was nice.
Uh, Coach Grubber,
my dad's out of town, so I brought Max.
He collects cans outside my dad's office.
No problem.
The picnic games rule book stipulates
that in the event of an absent parent,
a vagrant may be substituted.
So, where's the free grub?
Right this way, Vagrant.
I can't wait to see the look on Neutron's face
when we whip his butt.
How about that klutzy dad of his?
That man is engaged in a lifelong battle with gravity.
May we have our ham back?
Teams, take the field for the marshmallow toss.
Parents will stand behind the line.
Kids will fire marshmallows into their pie holes.
On your mark, get set...
I didn't say go.
Hurl!
Dag nabbit, Carl,
throw one.
Ow, I'm hit!
Am I bleeding?
Incoming!
Time— fall in for a count.
What's the deal, Neutron?
Last year, your dad couldn't walk a straight line,
and now he's like something out of a fancy French circus.
Je ne sais pas, mademoiselle.
With a record 37 marshmallows,
Team Neutron wins the first event.
Yes, indeedy dandy.
I'm on fire.
I'm watching you, Neutron.
Fall in
for the piggyback teacher hurdles.
Parents must vault over teachers
while lugging their offspring on their backs.
Ready, set...
I did not say "go."
I said, "set."
Ready, set, not go.
Not go— go!
Don't hurt Mama.
Oh, dear, you're wearing cleats?
Ow!
Behind you.
Coming up.
And dig it!
We have a winner.
Team Neutron is dominating these games.
Who's hot?
We're hot.
Who's not?
They're not.
This can't be happening.
Hey, that's weird.
Headbands don't usually give off electrostatic discharge.
Mr. N.,
may I offer you a congratulatory Purple Flurp?
Why, thank you, Cindy.
My insides could use a hose-down.
Dad... no!
Oh, no.
Oh, yes.
Say good-bye to your medal, Neutron.
Aren't you forgetting?
There's only one race left,
and we already have two wins.
Aren't you forgetting that the last event
is worth 90% of your score?
( burps )... Boy, that was refreshing.
I feel like doing a one-handed double back flip.
I think I will.
Dad, wait.
About your headband, well...
See, I electronically enhanced it
to make you better, because I wanted to win.
Well, I'm sorry to hear that, son.
You know, I thought I'd taught you
that winning isn't important.
What's important
is the healthy fellowship of sport.
I'm sorry, Dad.
I guess my need to win
got the better of me.
Smell that, Cindy.
That's the stench of loserdom.
Oh, yeah?
Bring it on!
When we're done with you,
you'll be sucking loser soup through a straw.
But Dad, what happened to the fellowship of sport?
Sport, shmort.
Losing blows eggwater.
Now, let's kick some Vortex hiney.
Take your marks
for the blindfolded chariot race.
Get set...
And...
I didn't say go.
Not yet, not yet, not yet.
To the left.
Dad, to the left!
Cone at 2:00.
Execute left turn now.
Okay, a little to the right.
No, look... ( screams )
Almost.
No... stop!
Onward to victory.
Dad, lemonade stand!
Dad, stop!
Oh, for Pete's sake.
Did we win?
No, but I don't think we're finished just yet.
And for the third year in a row,
the winner of the picnic games is Team Vortex.
Hold that trophy.
This woman is an impostor.
What?
This is my mom.
Impossible.
The probabilities of you and your mom
having different eye color, foot size and earlobe length
are 270 million to one.
You think just because your stupid data says that,
it's true?
That, and the fact
that she has a zipper on the back of her neck.
Aunt Suzy?
Yes, it's me.
Olympic champion and buff chick magazine fold-out Suzy Vortex.
Cheaters, cheaters.
That means we win.
Oh, goody, goody.
Give me that prize.
Dad, we can't accept that.
We cheated, too.
Oh, but Jimbo, it's so shiny,
and there's an "I" in "shiny."
Team Neutron is disqualified, which means Team DeCarlo wins.
Sorry, we cheated, too.
Greased the wheels on the wagon.
Okay, then.
Team Simkins?
We cheated on the hurdle thing.
Team Jenson?
Cheated.
Wilderman?
Played fair...
Then cheated.
You people are a disgrace!
Isn't there anybody who did not cheat?
Take it easy, Dad.
Now, go!
Wait, hold it!
We have a winner.
First prize goes to Team Wheezer.
Huh?
You hear that, son?
We won.
And not a single injury.
Ow, my foot!
Ow, my neck!
Oh, my head. Oh, my head.
Oh, I think I have a bone spur.
Oh, leg cramp.
My kidneys are on fire.
Hi, Mr. Neutron.
We're here.
Are you ready for us?
Sleeping bags?
Toothbrushes?
You're moving in!
Oh, no!
Two more mouths to feed, braces, college.
Honey!
Calm down, Hugh.
They're just here for Jimmy's sleepover.
Oh, well, that's not nearly as bad.
Oh, I remember my first sleepover—
the games and the practical jokes,
the crying for my mommy.
Hugh, that was our honeymoon.
Yeah, I know.
Gentlemen, welcome to what I expect to be
the greatest sleepover in history.
Yeah!
I baked galactic marshmallow balls
from the Ultra Lord Recipe Book.
And I brought a video
of Larry the Lovesick Llama.
You know, I think I have something
you guys'll enjoy even more.
Behold the Slumbertron 9000,
designed to throw the ultimate sleepover party.
It provides the world's greatest made-to-order pizza,
tells superscary stories,
and supplies the perfect pillows for ultimate pillow fights.
Turn it on, turn it on.
Pizza, pillows, scary stories!
Hey, hey— easy, Sheen.
One thing at a time.
This is the Slumbertron's maiden voyage.
I suggest we begin with the pillow fight.
These are perfect.
Yeah, totally state-of-the-art.
( as macho man ): Time to take out the trash!
Two, three, touch my knee.
Hugh, tell the boys to quiet down.
No, Sugar Booger, let them have their fun.
Eight, nine, bend my spine.
That's what I'm talking about.
I'm tired.
I'm hungry.
How about some pizza?
You read my stomach.
I want pepperoni and garlic and onions and anchovies...
And peanut butter and clams and hot fudge.
Don't knock it till you try it.
Okay, okay, one ultimate pizza coming up.
Gentlemen, let the gorging begin!
Oh, stomach full, room spinning.
I will eat no more...
forever.
Mom sent me down to tell you boys it's time to...
Give me a piece of pizza.
Ooh-hoo, fudge anchovy, my favorite.
( chewing ): Mmm... carry on with... your crazy... sleepover thing.
I believe the time has come
for scary stories.
Okay, but, um... not too scary, Jimmy,
because remember what happened
( whispers ): the last time when I got too scared.
Did you bring your rubber sleeping bag?
( softly ): Yes.
Then what's the problem?
Make it scream-your- head-off scary.
One scream-your-head-off scary story coming up.
It's just a story,
it's just a story, it's just a story.
Good evening.
I am Dr. Dark,
teller of terrible tales.
Hold up.
Do you mean terrible like lousy,
or terrible like scary?
Scary!
Got it.
Once there was a monster
who only appeared at night at sleepovers
and he was called the Sleepover Monster.
He only came out at night
because the sun was his mortal enemy.
And he liked to eat children—
boy children, just about your age.
Uh... m-m-maybe it'd be better
if we listened to the story in the morning?
Yeah— not that I'm scared.
I just don't want to wear out Jimmy's new machine.
Turn it off, turn it off, turn it off!
Good night, guys.
Good night, Jimmy.
This is the best sleepover ever.
Wait a minute.
Who said anything about going to sleep?
What are we, a bunch of babies?
Come on, I'm going to stay up all night.
Party! Party! Par...
Somebody's hungry.
Hey, Jim, how about some more pizza?
Jimmy?
Jimmy!
Uh, I bet I could make one of those pizzas.
( typing ): I want pizza.
Love, Carl.
Hmm.
Maybe if I just push everything.
Jimmy! Jimmy!
Uh, breakfast time?
Carl, what did you do?
I don't know.
My tummy woke me up— it was hungry.
I pressed all the buttons and... and...
Bad tummy, bad tummy!
Hey, I made a giant pizza.
Let's eat.
The Slumbertron must have combined
the pizza and scary story programs
to create...
a pizza monster!
I can't delete the pizza.
The screen's frozen.
Time for my dinner!
We're being chased by a monster!
Tell those boys to go to sleep now.
Oh, Booger Sugar, they're just playing
Help, I'm Being Chased by a Monster.
Well, my tasty morsels,
the tables are turned.
Now it looks like I get to eat you!
Let's split up.
Whoever the pizza monster isn't chasing can go for help.
One, two, three!
Go!
Mmm.
Hugh Neutron.
Go downstairs this instant
and tell those boys to settle down.
Okay, sure, fine...
Hate to be a party pooper, boys,
but can you keep it down?
Help!
Thank you.
What's going on out there?
Oh, nothing.
The boys are just being chased
by giant slices of flying pizza.
Hugh, do something.
Nice pillows.
Now, stay— stay!
Don't do anything evil.
Help!
All right, this is it, guys.
( voice trembling ): A pleasure knowing you.
Think, think, think.
Brain blast!
Hey, hey— remember the story?
The sun is the monster's mortal enemy.
Good, Jimmy.
Go get the sun.
Gas planet!
Sunrise is still eight minutes away.
Maybe I can make the monster think the sun is coming up.
Carl, I need your glasses.
Okay.
We can't just stand here doing nothing, Carl.
We've got to help Jimmy.
Good morning, Retroville.
It's 6:00 a.m., 72 degrees.
We got a beautiful sunrise out.
We've also got
a jackknifed tractor trailer on the 101.
Marshmallows everywhere.
Mission accomplished.
If only he'd used his anchovies for good instead of evil.
I'm starving.
Let's eat.
Fools!
Haven't you ever heard of sequels?
It was only a nightmare.
An anchovy-, clam-, and peanut butter-induced nightmare.
Whew, that was a doozy.
Help!
Help, help!
Help!
Bad dream, bad dream!
Whew.
I guess it was all just a dream.
Hey, Carl, I...
Honey, oh, what is it?
Oh, I had the most horrible dream.
There were three terrible children—
a tubby one, a manic one, and one with a giant head.
I told you, dear, there's no such thing as children.
Now, go back to sleep.
Captioning sponsored by THE U.S. DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION
and MTV TELEVISION NETWORKS
Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH access.wgbh.org